


A story in which Sherlock isn’t dead and John has got a pet

by babydragon7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydragon7/pseuds/babydragon7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says in the title with a bit of magic twist. It's basically angst fluffed with humor</p><p>The idea comes from the story my friend wrote long time ago, I just borowed it for Sherlock/John. No actual squirrels were harmed in the process!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A story in which Sherlock isn’t dead and John has got a pet

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: contains small traces of spoilers for Season 2!
> 
> Diclaimer: The movent descirbed in the fic can be joined here and it's not mine http://webelieveinsherlock.tumblr.com, and the characters belong to some other lucky people.
> 
> Not beta-ed, so if you've spotted some irritating mistakes, please, let me know

It’s warm outside and John just came back from the walk with Gladstone. He opens the door and has to hold for a dear life to the door sill as he sees someone tall and all together familiar, who turns abruptly and drops Encyclopedia Britannica on the floor as he sees John.

But the climatic meeting turns sideways as Sherlock also spots Gladstone, who has bounced happily up the stairs after John and now is staring at the intruder.

Sherlock looks baffled. It’s Dortmund all over as he can’t trust his senses, to believe in what he sees is real. But John looks undisturbed (well, as much as you can ever be seeing your long-dead friend) by a what-the-hell-is-this-thing, which currently stays on the floor two steps ahead of John in a kind of protective stance.

“What is this, John? Is it… but how… it can’t be some gas, otherwise you would be affected as well… but this is not possible… John!”

It takes John an extra second to catch up. He had his fair share of miracles last year. It’s just that they take a while to process.

He says “Easy, Gladstone” and enters the room to sit in his armchair. He feels very tired all of the sudden. Gladstone approaches and climbs up to curl in John’s lap. The dragon is about two feet long and has smart olive-sized golden eyes. It has small pointy ears and not very large wings, which it likes to have scratched, and a small bump on the chin. He is adorable, but also can be quite nasty, not alike someone else John used to know so well.

“It’s relative, I guess” John says “Some would say seeing a long deceased friend is hardly possible, but here you are.” He is calmer, that he ever thought he could be under the circumstances.

“But that’s different!” Sherlock waves a hand “Molly helped me to simulate my own suicide, which took the immediate danger of you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. But this is… a dragon, John! There did you get it? Brought from New-Zealand with you?

“How do you… Oh, you read my blog!”

“Obviously. This “Moriarty was real. We believe in Sherlock Holmes” movement you’ve started on the internet was rather good. Media of any sort has a real power, I must say. But back to the important thing – there did you get IT!”

The dragon raises his head from John’s lap and snarls. There is a light stream of smoke coming out of his nostrils.

“Name is Gladstone. I got it from Sarah actually. She had a friend, who had to fly out of the country urgently and left his pet with her and then Sarah had to go to some family meeting in Edinburg and she begged me to take care of Gladstone for a week. She did not see the dragon, of course. No one, I mean, hardly anyone does”.

Gladstone bumps his muzzle against John’s hand. Doctor starts to pet his dragon absentmindedly, not really paying attention to Sherlock, who stands no more than couple feet away and looks as he always did: a bit crazy and exited, his brilliant mind processing.

“They all normally see a dog. Different kind: some say he looks like a spaniel, others see a dachshund. Mrs. Hudson is sure I have a bulldog.”

“Why did you see a dragon?” Sherlock is all attention.

“Well it’s a thing with miracles, I guess. You have to believe in them, wait for them to happen, anticipate them. Not the miracle, I was waiting for, but… well.”

Sherlock does not ask, but instantly looks guilty and awkward.

“John, I could not come back earlier, it was too risky.”

John is surprised to be feeling that empty. Once he had burned and his heart still bears the marks, but now he just feels numb. No anger, no joy, just quiet acceptance. Sherlock is back; his room is still unoccupied, filled with lab equipment and some books. So it can all go back to the way it was ‘BM’ (‘before Moriarty’).

“Anyway, Sarah was thrilled I wanted to keep him, she said I could use some company and her friend has mailed me the web-page address.”

It was “howtotrainyour.com” and John has guessed the password easily enough. It was a great help, actually. How else would he know his dragon adores the smell of old books, hence the Encyclopedia Britannica (1768 edition) and dog biscuits. The other thing Gladstone loves are… squirrels. That’s why John takes him to Hyde Park earliest in the morning. The squirrels are stupid and therefore unsuspecting. But Gladstone can climb the tree-trunks, unlike the dogs, and soon another poor squirrel is burned and munched up. Gladstone always brings John the tail. So far they were not caught.

John takes the dragon of his lap and gets out of the chair.

“Listen, I need a shower. Make yourself at…”his voices wavers “home. If you want to make tea I’ll have a cup as well. And there is a pack of “dog’s delight” on the counter. Fetch one for a Gladstone, you make friends easily, I’m sure.”

“John, I…” Sherlock is lost so he asks another best thing “Why do you think I see the dragon?”

“No idea” He nods in the general direction of the desk and laptop, “Google it. I have not changed the password in case you were wondering.”

 

They don’t talk the talk for a next couple days. John still avoids calling Sherlock by name and detective still looks like he waits for another shoe to drop. The confrontation would happen sooner, were Mrs. Hudson home, but she is off to see her sister (although John suspects that’s not all to it, considering new dress and haircut he spotted on his land-lady). In the meanwhile Sherlock is all over Gladstone. John sees them once – Sherlock on the sofa, Gladstone on the coffee table – engaged in a staring contest. The dragon is smart and he thinks the newcomer is a competition for a spot in John’s bed. Nowadays John often finds himself in the morning with a serving of a-dragon-on-the side. Sometimes Gladstone even curls on his chest and John is never more warm and nightmare-free.

Sherlock for his part tries to concentrate on the dragon (so that he does not have to concentrate on John) and treats it as a new exiting toy. He reads the web-page and fires million mails with questions to other D.O’s (dragon owners). John would be amused, but it would mean to accept that Sherlock is back, that he is for real. There is a phantom pain in his chest every time John sees him, a ghost of friendship past. There might be even more to it, which John has not the slightest wish to analyze.

So John is doing the dishes in the kitchen and Sherlock trains Gladstone to ‘sit’ in the living room. Suddenly there is a cry and Sherlock stumbles in the kitchen, holding his thumb straight. He is simultaneously exited and appalled:

“Gladstone bit me, John!”

John takes his finger, looks at the two tiny teeth-marks, sniffs and licks it. Sherlock jerks back, stunned.

“He did not inject the poison, you’re lucky bastard. I have the antidote, but still. He did not scorch you, too, so he must really like you. What did you do?”

“I thought his skin has started to peel and I wanted to tear a piece to look at.” Sherlock looks sort of shy right now, not the usual grumpy brilliant man-child John used to know and care for so much.

“John, I want you to punch me in the face. Please.”

That’s not what John was expecting. “Why?”

“Well, you can slap me or kiss me or hug me if you want. Anything! Half of the time you look at me as if I’m not even there. You know, I’m bad at that, John! I never know the right thing to say when the sentiment is involved. But maybe if you touch me or hit me, you realize I’m here and alive! Maybe you’ll stop being so…” Sherlock waves a hand in the air.

John takes a couple steps, which separate him from Sherlock.

“Kiss you?”

“If you want.” Sherlock is eager for any sort of contact, really.

John raises his hand and cradles detective’s jaw. His thumb goes to rest on the side of Sherlock’s mouth. His lower lip trembles. Sherlock leans into the touch.

 

Both of them don’t notice the black muzzle, which pocked inside the kitchen. But Gladstone is rather smart and his instincts tell him that now might not be the best time to present John with a rat, which was lurking outside of 221C. So the dragon retreats silently.


End file.
